I woke up inside the same nightmare that's been stalking me for weeks.
The same one that waits behind my eyelids every damn time I close them.
No mercy, no escape—just that same godforsaken forest.
This time was different though.
This time, I couldn't move on my own. My body felt borrowed, hollow, like someone else was pulling the strings.
The air was sharp enough to sting when I breathed. The ground beneath me was cold, wet, and covered in leaves that whispered when I stepped on them. All around me, the trees rose like monsters in prayer—tall, twisted, blackened with decay. The fog wove between them, thick enough to blur the world into a smear of grey and shadow.
And then I realized—they were whispering.
At first, it was soft. Like the sound of paper being torn apart. But then the voices grew clearer. The trees weren't just creaking—they were talking.
Each one hissed something different.
Some spoke sweetly, voices like warm wind, whispering memories I'd forgotten I even had.
The good ones.
Helping the old woman carry her groceries home.
Sharing food with the stray dog that followed me for days.
Forgiving the people who never said sorry.
But then the voices deepened.
Turned darker.
And the forest began to change.
The living trees thinned out, replaced by rotting husks. Their bark split open like wounds, dripping black sap that looked far too much like blood.
These ones whispered my sins.
The cash I stole from my mother's purse.
The house I tried to break into.
The cell I sat in, shaking, hating the person I'd become.
Every word hit like a knife in my gut. The air vibrated with accusation.
I tried to run, but the ground moved beneath me—roots wrapping around my ankles, holding me still. My tears fell fast, hot and shaking, and the whispers only got louder, mocking me, echoing liar, thief, failure through the fog.
Then I saw it—through the haze.
The oak tree.
The one that haunted me.
Its branches stretched wide like arms waiting to hold—or crush—me. The bark was pale, glowing faintly, and right in the middle of its trunk was the door.
That same cursed door from my dreams.
It pulsed with light—warm, golden—but something about it felt wrong. Like it was alive. Watching me.
For a second, I thought maybe I'd walk to it. Maybe open it myself. Maybe it wanted me to.
But before I could decide, something pulled me.
Invisible hands grabbed my shoulders, yanking me forward. I screamed and dug my nails into the dirt, but the ground offered no grip—just slick mud and rotting leaves.
The light from the door grew so bright it burned. My body stretched, my bones felt like they were shattering from the inside out. I tried to close my eyes—
But the light went through them.
And then—
Nothing.
Just black.
The silence hit like a brick wall.
No wind. No forest. No sound.
I blinked, but there was nothing to see. I reached out, but there was nothing to touch.
It wasn't just dark—
It was emptiness.
Then came the voice.
A whisper so soft, I almost thought it came from inside my head.
It slid across my skin like silk dipped in venom.
"Oh, dear…" the voice purred. A woman's tone—sweet, almost motherly—but soaked in mockery.
"What have you done? You weren't supposed to be here. Not yet. You're not even worth a simple… dessert, don't you think?"
Her giggle was sharp and sweet. The kind that doesn't belong to anything human.
Then, somewhere far away, laughter echoed. Low, hollow, endless. It grew until it shook the space around me.
And just as suddenly—silence again.
The emptiness cracked beneath me like glass.
And I fell.
Down.
Down.
Through nothing. Through whispers. Through the sound of my own heartbeat roaring in my ears—until the ground hit me like a punch.
And I woke up—
gasping,
trembling,
covered in sweat.